Any Time Tomorrow I'll Pretend to See the Light
by Jammeke
Summary: Allan unwittingly opens up to Robin about one of his biggest fears. Robin offers… reassurance. At least, that's what Allan assumes he does.


**Title:** Any Time Tomorrow I'll Pretend to See the Light

 **Author:** Jammeke

 **A/N:** Written for Dreamersscape's birthday.

Takes place after 1x06.

-0-

An arrow was sticking out of his leg. There was an arrow sticking out of his leg. This was fantastic. Robin was expecting him to run, and an arrow was sticking out of his–

"Faster, Allan!"

And he would have made an inappropriate joke about that (he would have! Robin made it too easy sometimes), were it not for the fact that he was too busy trying to catch his breath, too busy trying to keep up with Robin with _a soddin' arrow sticking out of his leg._

Suddenly Robin's arm was around Allan's waist, and Allan's arm was being draped across a bony shoulder, and he was being dragged along, branches hitting him in the face because apparently Sherwood Forest felt he wasn't hurting enough yet.

"Can't… keep up," he panted. "Can we–slower?"

Robin's response to that was to tug at him harder. Because of course it was.

"We'll shake them off," Robin said, so sure of himself, so sure of Gisborne's men's incompetence, which, granted– "Here." Another tug. "Don't scream." And then they were tumbling down a hill and Allan was screaming because there was pressure on his leg, on his arrow wound, on the soddin' arrow still sticking out of the arrow wound, and this was it, he was dying, legs entwined with Robin Hood's. There was a loud crack. For one, horrifying moment he thought it was the sound of his own back breaking, but then he realised it had been the sound of his elbow hitting Robin in the face.

And then everything went black.

-0-

Ignoring the pain in his nose, Robin leaned over Allan's motionless body, gently slapping his face to determine whether he truly was out cold. He'd have to push the arrow right through, lest the arrowhead do more damage to the muscle than it already had, and he needed for Allan to not be conscious while he did that. Gisborne's men would surely hear his screams this time if he were, and the pain– well, Robin wouldn't wish the pain of an arrow being pushed clean through on his worst enemy.

If only Djaq were here.

But she wasn't, and it was up to Robin to make sure the wound in Allan's leg became a gaping hole before the man regained consciousness.

There was nothing else for it. He set his jaw, tried not to think, and pushed.

Afterwards, he tore a rag off his own tunic, tying it tightly around the wound. Much would mend the fabric later. Right now, his first priority was making sure that Allan didn't lose more blood than he already had. He should have cleaned the wound before bandaging it, but he didn't have any water on hand, and he couldn't leave Allan, not while Gisborne's men were still nearby.

The risk of infection was great. Djaq would be glaring at him if she were here, and rightly so.

Then again, if Djaq were here, they wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. Not just because she'd knew how to treat Allan, but also because she wouldn't have gotten into this situation in the first place. What had he been _thinking_ , trying to see if he could shoot Gisborne's yellow neckwear off of his person. (Turned out, he could. Turned out, Gisborne was not as delighted by this as Allan and Robin were.) He couldn't place the blame on Allan. Though it had been the other man's idea, Robin had hardly been a reluctant participant. Still, he should have known better than to endanger both their lives for the sake of a little bit of fun. He'd been careless. Reckless.

Allan seemed to bring out that side to him.

-0-

"I broke your nose," was the first thing Allan said when he came to.

"It feels like it," Robin said, but, unless Allan was very much mistaken, that was not the reason he was frowning at Allan.

"Sorry. If you'd warned me before pushing me off a cliff, I might've known what to do with my arms and legs," Allan said, rolling onto his side and yelping at the pain that movement caused him.

"How's your leg?"

"On fire. Yours?"

"Allan, we need to move."

Oh, but he was so not moving. "I don't think I can."

Robin didn't even try to convince him that no, actually, he could, which was… troubling. "We need water."

"Yeah." Allan carefully shifted onto his back. "All that running, right? I could do with something stronger, mind you."

"I need to clean your wound before you die of infection."

"Ah."

"Can you defend yourself with a knife?"

"Um. Normally, yes. Not very well lying down."

Robin nodded grimly. "Be quiet, then, and don't draw attention to yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can. If you're seen–"

"Yeah?"

"Just… make sure you're not seen," Robin said after a moment's silence. He got to his feet. "By my estimation, we're about a two-hour walk away from the camp. The others won't find us here. Gisborne's men might."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. No noises." His good leg twitched. "You'll be back soon, yeah?"

Robin nodded at him, then turned and disappeared between the trees.

Allan tried to keep an eye on his surroundings, but let his head fall back onto the ground before long, choosing to reserve the energy it took to keep his head upright for trying to pretend he couldn't feel his leg. Trying being the key word.

Would that Robin actually did return with something stronger.

-0-

He was going to have to boil the water he'd found. For that, he was going to have to make a fire. For that, he was going to have to trust that Gisborne's men were long gone. And if they were, and the ridiculous gamble that was not even half a plan worked, he was going to have to trust that the not-quite-half-a-plan would be enough to get Allan travel-ready. They couldn't spend the night out here; his gang were not the only outlaws inhabiting Sherwood Forest (though they were by far the least likely to kill first and ask for riches later).

Making the fire was relatively easy. It hadn't rained in a few days. More difficult was figuring out how to boil water over it without anything to put it in. Well. He'd gotten the water here in his quiver. He might as well…

"Robin–"

"Be quiet."

"If you can make a fire that might as well scream _hello, we're right over here, come find us_ , I can talk. And ask you what the heck you're doing with your quiver."

Robin carefully readjusted his grip, so he could use his right hand to poke at the fire with a branch. "It's a kettle. Use your imagination, Allan."

Allan clearly was not in the mood. An arrow through the leg would do that to a man. "It's not a kettle. Besides, it's made of wood and it'll catch fire if you hold it that close to the flames. And anyway, you will burn your hand holding it like that if there's boiling water inside it."

Probably, yes. If only he had better equipment. If only Djaq were here. Or Much, even. Much had more experience with this than Robin did, courtesy of Robin himself. "I'll be fine."

"No, you won't be. I already broke your nose."

"Yes, you did. Thanks for that." By now, Robin was actually fairly sure Allan hadn't done anything of the sort. He'd broken enough bones to know his face must be a lovely shade of purple but not actually in need of re-setting. Much would be relieved. Or, well, slightly less upset.

"I did apologise."

Did he? Robin couldn't recall. "I'm sure it was heartfelt."

Allan cleared his throat. "Anyway, it's not so bad. Marian will dig it. Women like that sort of thing."

"Yes, I'm sure she just loves crooked noses." Speaking of. "Gisborne's is testament to that."

"Ah." Allan looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly schooled his expression into a casual one. "We're gonna talk about this?"

"No, we're not." Robin was not discussing Guy of Gisborne with Allan. Not in relation to Marian, at least. Not that there was much to discuss. She'd accepted his invitation to the fair, yes, but she hadn't really– "Ow." He almost dropped the quiver.

Allan winced. "Told you. By the way, Gisborne's nose isn't crooked, not really. Just large. Nothing to suggest he's seen battle."

"Leave it." He put the quiver on the ground beside the fire, careful not to tip it over, before ripping another rag of his already ruined tunic. He should have thought of winding a protective layer around his hand sooner, but his brain wasn't cooperating today. "How's your leg feel?"

Allan didn't respond at once, and Robin glanced up at him, feeling something twitch inside his chest. "Allan?"

"It hurts. Badly," Allan admitted. "Keep talking. It helps."

It couldn't possibly, but the water would do what Robin could not: disinfect that leg, make Allan feel better, and maybe, just maybe, make him feel well enough to return to the camp. "A little bit longer," he said. "We'll have to wait until it cools off. Everything'll be better soon."

"Yeah." Allan was nodding, his smile too wide, his eyes too bright.

If he could put an arrow through the leg of the guy who'd shot Allan, he would. Oh, he wouldn't kill the man; just… do unto him what he'd done unto others, for a bit. See how he liked it.

"As I was saying, she probably doesn't like it that much. I wouldn't worry about it."

"I'm not. Worried."

"If she's gonna marry him, it will be for his money, for sure."

Then again, maybe shooting arrows at people without immediate cause wasn't a very Christian thing to do.

-0-

The pain was getting worse.

Robin had actually patched him up pretty neatly, as far as Allan could tell, but he still felt as though sawing off his leg just below the knee would improve life in general at the moment, and it was getting more and more difficult to pretend otherwise.

"Allan."

Allan startled, and turned his head. "Yeah?"

Robin was looking at him strangely. Possibly he'd said Allan's name before. Allan tried to repeat the past few minutes in his head, but all he could focus on was the stinging sensation in his leg, which seemed to have soaked into his bone by now, and could bones even sting? Djaq would know.

"Is your leg still improving?"

Right. Maybe telling Robin the pain was getting less had been a stupid thing to do. But if he tried really hard, he might be able to make it back to camp without Robin noticing he couldn't actually walk right now. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah, it's gettin' better and better." He threw in a grin for good measure.

Robin tilted his head to the side. He walked over to where Allan was sprawled on the forest floor and inspected his leg. If that was even possible, since he'd just wrapped a piece of his tunic around it. "It doesn't look like it's getting better."

"You can tell that just by looking at a piece of cloth."

"No, I can tell that by looking at you."

Well, that was… inconvenient. "I'm fine," he insisted.

Robin shook his head. "What are you trying to prove, Allan?" He actually sounded… upset, as though Allan had just told him there was no way he'd make it back to camp. Which he'd been extremely careful not to do.

"I'm not trying to prove anything. I just want to go home and put this day behind me."

"Can we? Go back to camp?"

Oh, confound the man. Allan studied his boots. He could do with new ones. New soles, really. He'd have to ask Will if they could still be saved. If not, he might be able to convince the others the guards' shoes were riches that should, in fairness, be shared with England's people.

"Allan, I need you to tell me exactly how much pain you're in. If you can't walk now, and you're not going be able to walk anytime soon, I'll have to leave you here and–"

"No." The word slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. "No, it's fine. Everything is fine."

"Everything is _not_ fine, Allan. Darn it." Oh good, yelling. He winced. Robin didn't look very sympathetic to his plight, but he did lower his tone somewhat when he said, "Why must you be so difficult about this? I am trying to help you."

"The others will find us," Allan said stubbornly. "If we just wait here–"

Robin made an exasperated sound. "They are not going to find us, Allan, because we are not where we are supposed to be. Now would you please tell me why I should not go get Djaq at once, now that the guards have probably returned to Locksley Manor?"

Allan couldn't say it. Not to Robin. What leader valued weak men?

Since when did he need Robin's validation?

 _Since pretty much always._ _You_ do _know who you're asking that question, dunderhead._

"I can do it," he insisted loudly over the voice in his head, which had no business sounding like Much as much as it did. "Just give me some time."

"No, you can't. It's becoming increasingly clear to me that you can't. There's no point in both of us staying here if you can't walk. It will be dark in six hours. If I leave now, I'll be–"

Allan bolted upright. "No. Don't leave me!" Oh. That was. That was just. Not what he'd meant to say at all. He tried not to wince belatedly at the pain the movement had caused him. The last thing he should do right now was show yet another sign of weakness. Robin might not have noticed the desperation in his tone. Please, God, let him not have noticed the desperation in his tone.

"Don't leave you?" Robin slowly sank through his knees beside him. "Allan, you set out on your own all the time. Don't tell me you're afraid of being alone."

"I'm not afraid of being alone." He wasn't. And what did Robin know, anyway; the man _liked_ being alone.

"Then… do you fear being _left_ alone?" Robin persisted, and– darn it.

Allan didn't respond. Didn't look up. He couldn't watch the understanding dawn on Robin's face – and it must have in the time Allan tried to pretend he'd never been born, because:

"I am not going to abandon you, Allan."

Allan closed his eyes. "I know that." He let out a shaky laugh. The ridiculous thing was that he _did_ know that. So far, Robin had gona back for every single one of them, even Roy, who'd come so close to betraying him. There was no reason to believe he wouldn't come back. He knew that, logically. "If you're useless, you're out. That's how it goes. I just don't… I don't want to be out, Robin."

"Ah."

 _Ah._ Awesome. Lay bare your soul to the man and: ah.

Granted, it must be killing Robin to talk about Allan's feelings, of all things, just like it was killing Allan to listen to Robin talking about Allan's feelings, and, as far as conversations about what Allan had just confessed to went, 'ah' was vastly preferable to actual words. Discussing his past… experiences with Robin was above getting captured and tortured by Vaisey on his list of things to do, but only just.

Still: ah?

"I've offered Marian to come live with us in the forest," Robin said after a while, and okay. That was a smooth change of subject if he'd ever heard one.

"Oh." If Robin was offended by his short response, he didn't show it. Well, he'd started it by saying 'ah'.

"Yes, she did not want to abandon her father, which is why I offered she bring him along."

"Um." In hindsight, Robin's two-character response deserved more credit. Giving away personal information was one thing; receiving it was even more uncomfortable. What did Robin want him to say? 'You go, asking your future father-in-law of choice to come live in the forest with you. It'll be cosy'?

"She refused the offer, of course, pointing out that the forest is no place for an old man. But the point is…" Robin trailed off, and Allan waited, curious now, wondering what the point could possibly be. "The point is, that Sir Edward would hardly have been a valuable asset to us. He is old and unused to living outdoors. He would have required our assistance with tasks he'd normally assign to servants. Besides which, we couldn't have left him behind by himself should our camp be discovered."

Allan snorted. "But… anything to get the girl."

Robin shook his head, looking mildly put upon, as though Allan was the one spouting nonsense. "Anything to look after the people I… wish to look after."

"Oh. _Oh._ " Allan sat up a little bit straighter, more carefully this time. "Was that your way of telling me I could still live with you if I were old and grumpy and one of the things standing in-between you and the girl you like? Because you could have just told me that, you know."

"I did just tell you that."

"You did not. I had to infer."

Robin shook his head and got to his feet, seemingly exasperated, but Allan could see his lips were twitching. "If I'm not back here by the time it's dark, you're free to panic. Until then… have a little faith, Allan."

"Oh yeah, sure. I'll be here with an arrow wound in my leg having faith."

"You do that." Robin was grinning, even as he turned his back on Allan and walked away from him, and Allan, he realised with a start, was grinning too. Sincerely this time.

Huh.

Could one infer 'care about' from 'wish to look after'? He might be pushing it now, but, well, Robin had been the one to tell him to have faith. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do than infer for the rest of the day.

Allan put his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and settled in for a long wait – or, rather, allowed himself to rest as comfortably as currently possible, and _faithfully_ awaited Robin's return.

\- the end -

 **A/N:** This story wouldn't be complete without the tumblr tags accompanying it (sorry, Emily):

#look! look! it's only a little bit angsty! (the real angst comes a few weeks later #when allan learns robin miiiiight actually be willing to leave his people in vaisey's clutches if it means getting revenge on gisborne #after which allan loses faith again. buT THE GOOD NEWS IS HE HAD IT FOR A LITTLE WHILE. AN ENTIRE AFTERNOON FOR SURE)


End file.
